


Father in your dreams

by justreaderr



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkenstone is a Silmaril, F/M, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Psychological Trauma, Translation, bad!English
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6093055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justreaderr/pseuds/justreaderr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Battle of Five Armies and with it the darkness is rising again in the lands of middle earth. The enemy of old reaching again for power, but within this darkness there is light and a relict from long forgotten times leaving the shadows behind to step back into the light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolog

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Father in your dreams - Vater in deinen Träumen](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/177883) by justreaderr. 



500 years ago:

With the first light of the autumn sun two young elves left the halls of the woodland realm.

“I bet I will kill more spiders than you”, called the blond cockily as he raced ahead.

His red-haired companion just laughed happily, “Only you would believe this, you’ve got no chance against me.”

“The looser must confess to Galion he drank all of ada’s good wine all alone and take the punishment. Agreed?” challenged the blond.

"Well, than you should better get ready to clear out the stables, Legolas.“ 

“No, I’ll have to find myself a peg so I can watch you muck out without having to suffer the smell, Tauriel.”

The she-elf merely snored amused, than called “The last one is a lame dwarf.”

Still quarrelling they raced each other to the first spider nest. When the spiders noticed the elflings they started hissing and spitting angrily and attacked. But the two elves had easy paly with the small not even quite knee-high crawlers. And not soon after Legolas called triumphant, “Victory is mine, I’ve got 36. What about you?”

Yet when he turned his eyes on his friend, Tauriel grinned satisfied, “I’ve got …”

But than she froze midsentence, her face losing all colour she pointed behind him.

Legolas however just laughed, “You don’t really think, I’m going to fall for your tricks. Tell me how many you’ve got.”

“Legolas”, Tauriel cried panicky, “Watch out, behind you.” 

The prince albeit didn’t react but rather grinned superiorly. This grin however froze on his face when Tauriel rushed towards him and toppled him. With an aggressive hiss a giant spider landed on the spot the elvenprince had occupied only moments before.

Both elves shared a horrified look and jumped back on their feet, knifes in hands. With combined forces they managed to overwhelm the beast.

Out of breath Legolas gasped, “What in the name of Eru was that monster?”

Tauriel shrugged insecurely, “We should hurry back home, I don’t like this at all,”

The blond prince nodded in agreement and the hurried along, but even before they managed to take a hundred steps another giant spider sprang in their way.

Shocked they stopped sharply. They shared a quick glance and dashed to the right and vanished between the trees. Yet more and more spiders crawled through the undergrowth and soon enough the young elves were cut off from their way home.

They continued fleeing deeper and deeper into the woods until they had left the borders of the woodland realm far behind. The forest around them turned darker and darker with every step they took.

“Legolas, we need to turn back”, Tauriel called frightened, “The king will be so furious once he learns that we crossed the border.”

The older elf nodded in agreement, but he had no idea how they should get past the spiders, which kept them away from their home. But then a loud cracking sound resounded through the underbrush and shocked the elves out of their thoughts.

They wheeled around and found themselves eye in eye with a large number of grinning orcs. They jeered and howled as they rushed toward the young elves. Legolas and Tauriel defended themselves with their knives as well as they could against the onslaught of the pack. Yet they didn’t seem to lessen in number and so Tauriel soon lost her first knife, while one orc clamped Legolas’ right leg. One of the orcs sprang on Tauriel and with a hit of his club the she-elf went down.

With his comrade fallen their attackers focused their efforts on the reminding elf, who was soon overwhelmed as well and his world turned black.

The blanket of night had already fallen, when Legolas regained consciousness and sat up abruptly. Next to him Tauriel laid on her side unmoving, he noticed immediately relived. Yet it was remarkably silent. Carefully he checked his body for injuries and noticed some crude ropes, which had obviously been used as bonds. But they had been cut through.

Strange.

The elf blinked and looked around. They were in an orc camp, this he could see without any problems, but none of those disgusting creatures were still alive. They all laid slaughtered in their own blood.

Carefully the blond prince grabbed Tauriels shoulder and shook her awake. His companion grumbled for a moment, than her eyes flew open.

“Legolas, what …” she sat up and looked around “What happened? Where are we?”

“I don’t know. My last memory is of that orc attack, then I awoke here. Someone has freed us and killed the orcs.”

“But who?”

“I haven‘t got a clue. Are you injured? Can you stand? We should leave immediately and return to our halls.” With those words spoken he struggled back on his legs.

“I think I‘ll manage”, was Tauriel’s response as she lifted herself slowly of the ground, than she moaned, “My head feels as if an entire herd of olifaunts trampled me.” 

“I can agree with that assessment, mellon. I feel similar.” The prince agreed. Then he noticed something glittering not far from them and went over. „Our weapons, someone must have picked them up after we lost them in our struggle with the orcs.“

The red-head accepted her knives and together they turned back towards home. Shortly before they crossed their border they made another astounding discovery. The giant spiders, which hunted them, they were all dead.

“This is unsettling”, remarked Tauriel and kicked the remains of a spider, “We are not alone.”

Legolas shuddered at this thought, but none of his sharp senses was able to pick up even the faintest hint of another presence. Only the calm of the woods lay around them. As fast as their maltreated bodies allowed they hurried back towards the palace.

In the distance they finally could hear the faint noise of calling voices and as soon as they were near enough to recognise one of them, Legolas responded, “Feren, here we are.”

After this it was only a matter of minutes and both young elves were surrounded by the members of the royal guard. Feren, the head of mirkwood’s army was next to them. “My prince, Tauriel, where have you been? What happened to you?” he demanded to know then he checked them over, “You are injured.”

“We are well enough, Feren, there is no need to worry”, replied the young prince “We were hunted by spiders when suddenly gigantic spiders attacked at least thrice as big as those which spread through our woods. They forced us from our lands. Beyond our borders then we were attacked by orcs.”

“Orcs?” Feren demanded sharply and turned to Berenion, one of the guard captains, “Call your guards together, we won’t tolerate orcs near our borders.”

“This is unnecessary”, interrupted Tauriel, “The orcs are all dead already.”

“You killed them all? Alone?”

Legolas shook his head, “They overwhelmed us, but when we woke again our bonds were cut loose and all the orcs were dead.”

“We saw nobody who could have done this”, Tauriel added, “The spiders which attacked us were destroyed as well.”

“Berenion, accompany Legolas and Tauriel safely back to the palace I will go with some to see if we can find some hints who has done this.”

The other elf nodded and his troop escorted both young elves back to Thranduil’s halls and handed them over to the healers. Within the halls of the healers the Elvenking himself found them.

Thranduil gave them a lecture they would still remember in centuries to come before he took them in his arms. Then however he stepped back and straightened himself to his full hight.

“What do you have to report, Feren” he demanded to know from the elf that just arrived.

“It is exactly as these two told me. We found the carcasses of giant spiders as well as the orc camp. They were all slain.” He frowned, “My king whoever had done this, it has to be an elf. We found footprints of orcs and even some of Tauriel and Legolas, but none of their mysterious saviour. All wounds were caused by a sword and no creature save for an elf could move through the forest without leaving any tracks.”

“You mean to tell me a renegade elf is wandering my lands” the Elvenking asked incredulous. 

“I know it makes no sense, aranin, which reason would an elf have to hide from us. But it’s the only explanation I can come up with. What else should it be? No orc, man or dwarf could move unnoticed.”

“And you found nothing? Absolutely nothing?”

„No, my lord. Not even a single footprint. If the wounds which were caved weren’t so distinct I could take a different guess, but so …“

The king nodded, “Give orders to all patrols. They are to keep an eye open for this unknown elf. If they find him, they are to ask him to come and speak with me. But under no circumstances they are to use force to try and obtain him and bring him to me. An elf who wanders alone is not normal and potentially dangerous.”

Feren nodded and bowed. “As you wish, hirnin.”

Then he turned and vanished soundlessly back the way he came. Thranduil meanwhile focused his attention back on the two elflings who were watching him with big eyes, “We will speak again, once your wounds have healed. Do not believe I will forget this mischief anytime soon and you will not go unpunished. I’m quite sure the stable master will be delighted to have two new assistants.”

They both moaned unhappily and the king smiled as he left the halls of healing behind.

In the following night Tauriel’s sleep was restless. A dream returned to her which she hadn’t dreamt in a long time. The nightmare of that day her parent’s village had been attacked. She could hear the screams and see the blood as her mother fled through the village Tauriel in arms.

She remembered being stuffed in one of their kitchen cupboard and hearing her naneth’ death scream. But instead of ending with the elvenking’s face before her eyes, her dream showed her a different image this time. An unknown yet strangely familiar face flashed through her mind.

A pale elf covered in black blood. His long dark black hair was so different from Thranduil's pale blond locks. And the next morning she woke to the image of stormy grey eyes opposed to crystal blue ones and a sad tune in her ears.


	2. Ravenhill

Side by side Legolas and Tauriel left the ruins of the city of Dale, their eyes fixed on Ravenhill. Neither of them said a word about that which occurred only seconds ago between Thranduil and Tauriel.

Tauriel was worried for her new friend Kili while Legolas simply didn’t know how to breach the subject. In great hurry and comfortable silence they reached the bottom of the hill. Tauriel immediately dashed forward to look for the young dwarf whereas Legolas spotted the fight between Thorin Oakenshield and Azog, the leader of the orc army. One last time his eyes turned in the direction in which his red-haired friend had left ere he faced the battle in the distance without further hesitation. The dwarf had little chance against the pale orc, this he could see from here.

The dwarf had quite likely saved his life during their flight from the woodland realm, now he could return the favour. Nobody should be able to say Legolas Greenleaf owed anything to a dwarf. Tauriel wasn’t captain of the guard for nothing; she was able to protect herself.

Meanwhile Tauriel had already entered the crumbling watchtower and looked around. She noticed that Legolas was not any longer following her but she dismissed that thought and started looking and calling for Kili. But the dwarf didn’t respond. Just when she called his name for the third time she froze.

What exactly was she doing? She could hear steps behind her, but before she had even time to turn she was hit by a brutal stroke which sent her flying across the room. As fast as possible she jumped back on her feet and found herself face to face with Bolg, the very same orc Legolas fought in Laketown.

She swallowed hard. What a great fool she had been to call for Kili and turn the attention of every orc in hearing range onto herself. The orc grinned and his disgusting face lit up with vile anticipation. Then he attacked.

The very first stroke had already taught Tauriel that this orc was not an ordinary one. The power he put behind his every hit was great, more like that of a troll than that of an orc. But all the evilness and wickedness which flashed in his eyes left little doubt that this creature didn’t possess the same dim-wittedness as a troll would.

The young she-elf had to recognise very soon that for all her speed and capability with her knifes there was little she could do against the sheer brutality of this orc. Before she could even undertake a serious attempt of flight another brutal blow fell which trough her across the broken balustrade and into a lower chamber. Dizzily she laid there for a moment and fought against the darkness threatening to overcome her and the rush of blood in her ears rendering her nearly deaf. Unconsciousness nearly overwhelmed her, but she gripped desperately for the last strains of clarity and blinked. 

She didn’t know how long she had been laying there but finally her focus cleared and she managed to sit up. Her eyes travelled back up where she assumed Bolg to be. He would surly come to down to her and finish what he started.

After a couple of deep breaths and with sheer stubborn power of will she dragged herself back on her legs. She would not die. Not here, not like this. Then she waited.

But Bolg didn’t come. After a long while Tauriel pulled herself out of her ready-to-fight-position and looked to the stairs leading up towards the next level. Where was this creature? Was he waiting behind the bend for her? No, the orc knew his superiority, there was no reason to hide and attack from ambush. This could only mean one thing. The orc thought her dead and had turned his attention back towards the dwarves.

“Kili”, the she-elf whispered quietly and began her track up the stairs to find the young prince. But even before she reached the top of the stairs she froze. There he was. Bolg. The ground soaked with his blood, his head laid just a few steps to her left and the hand still gripping his heavy club Tauriel could spot across the room. Carefully she stepped closer to inspect the carcass. One single deep cut marked the death of this monster. The strike had cut through armour, flesh and bone nearly completely severing top from bottom. 

Her head turned towards the severed head, a completely unnecessary act born for great anger. She shuddered. Who had done this? This orc had been colossal and the mere notion of the power necessary to scar him like this was frightening and could’ve only been born from great anger and hate. This was something personal but Tauriel could not come up with someone who could have done it. 

But before she could started to consider this matter any deeper she turned away and hurried along. It didn’t take long for her to hear the sound of combat and there she finally found Kili who was hacking like somebody possessed for everything orcish that even dared to try nearing some dark pile on the ground.

As she drew nearer Tauriel could recognise what exactly was the dark pile.

Fili.

Determined Tauriel attacked the orcs which – thank all the Valar – were quite ordinary and didn’t possess even an ounce of Bolgs strength. It didn’t take those two long to defeat the reminding orcs and the young dwarf looked at her. 

“Tauriel” he whispered and stepped nearer “You came.”

The she-elf nodded quite unnecessarily and eyed Kili silently.

Tauriels eyes left Kili and travelled to his fallen brother. Slowly she stepped closer but within seconds Kili was between them, his sword raised in defence.

“Let me pass, Kili, I shall see if there is anything left that could be done for him.”

“There is nothing left that you could do for him. He is dead.” Responded Kili slowly and strengthened his grip around his sword. “I could not protect his life, but I will be damned if I can’t protect his body.”

“Kili …” she began slowly but stopped when a cry of pain resounded through the ruins. This voice she knew only too well.

“Legolas” she breathed and without a look back to the two brothers the living and the dead one she turned towards the source of the scream and ran.

She ran as fast as her feet would carry her until she reached the frozen river where she came to a slippery stop. Her eyes focused on what was occurring a few hundred meters away on the ice.

The dwarf king laid unconscious a few meters to the side. But he was of no great interest to the young elf. Her eyes were locked onto the pale orc who threw a gigantic stone fastened to a chain toward Legolas and going by his limping had managed to hit the woodland prince at least once.

Legolas all the while was trying to near the orc to reach him with his knives but was kept at a distance by the stone club which the orc wielded with ease and the blade replacing Azogs arm.

Without any further thought Tauriel bolted towards the fighters to aid her friend. But the slipperiness hindered her progress and so she had merely crossed half the distance when her blood ran cold.

Legolas uninjured leg slipped and his weakened one nearly collapsed. The few short seconds it took the blond prince to stabilise himself the orc used cruelly and hurled his club.

The stone hit the elf with full force and hurled him across the river and against the side of the hill like a ragdoll. Completely shocked the young she-elf watched as her friend went down and didn’t get back up again.

But when the orc made for the unconscious prince with a leering grin hot fury shot through Tauriel. Thankfully Azogs attack had thrown Legolas closer towards her, so she reached him first and put herself protectively in front of him.

“Stay away from him you foul creature” she hissed angrily.

But the orc only responded with a throaty chuckle and some words in his vile language she didn’t understood. Yet this was probably better for none of what came out of the mouth of an orc could have been a compliment.

Tauriels hands tightened their grip around the hilts of her knives and she faced Azog down with a courage born out of desperation. She had to force Azog away from Legolas; she had to prevent him from reaching Legolas. Another attack the prince would not survive, if he was even still …

The red-haired elf shook her head. Legolas was still alive, he had to be.

With a quick leap she managed to surprise the orc for a moment and slipped beneath his club, near enough for an attack. But the orc recovered immediately and swung his blade. Tauriels entire body vibrated under the impact as the blade collided with her knives and it took her everything to repel it.

She could not win this fight. There was no doubt in her mind. Her aching body conveyed that massage rather clearly. Her fight with Bolg had not left her as unscathed as she had thought or more likely hoped. It didn’t took her long to lose one of her knives and left with only one weapon to defend herself she could not counter Azog any longer. 

On moment there was hard ice under her feet the next she was airborne and hit the ground hard. The impact forced the air from her lungs and she was left gasping for air. Next to her body, she could feel another warm, soft body and as she turned her head she found Legolas pale face. His light blond hair was crusted with blood, his eyes were closed.

A searing pain shot through her body as she saw her friend like this, so fragile, so broken. For one short moment she forgot everything around herself and lifted one hand to touch his cheek.

But then she noticed something, a gentle and warm breath brushed her skin. He was still breathing. Legolas was not dead. Not yet.

“Azog” she remembered the orc was approaching on them in this very moment. She tried to turn, tried to move. She had to get up, she had to protect her friend and prince, but she had no strength left. The last thing she managed was turning her head, her eyes finding Azog who drew mockingly slow closer is blade raised and the stone dragging after him.

Tauriel blinked. Somewhere to the side she thought she noticed a shadow jumping onto the ice and heard a sharp call, but then darkness swallowed her.


	3. A foreign elf

The Elvenking looked incredulous after his son and the red-haired she-elf he had taken in so many years ago. Then however Feren stepped forward and the king lost sight of them.

“My king?” the brown-haired elf questioned disquietly.

“Recall your companies. We will secure the city then start retrieving the injured and treat them. Our own first then the men.”

One last look the Elvenking casted in the direction in which the young elves had left, then he turned his attention back to his troops. First he needed to focus on his duties as king and afterwards he could turn toward those of a father.

As fast as possible he commanded his warriors. The elves overtook the positions and walls and while their bows kept orcs and other dark creatures at distance the other elven warriors and men cleaned the streets.

But then finally there was nothing more left to keep the Elvenking and he marched away towards the Ravenhill. He ignored Bard and Gandalf and even Feren. His eyes fixed on his destination. 

He neared the hill and his good eye immediately found his son’s silver-blond hair. Without a moment of hesitation he guided his steps in that direction. That horrid beast, his beloved child was fighting, the old king recognised instantly as Azog. A queasy feeling settled in his stomach. The orc-king was an adversary whose cruelty and malevolence was known far and wide and whose proclaimed death had been received with gladness even by the elves.

But this creature, this abomination was not dead, but very much alive and trying to kill his only son.

The Elvenking hurried his steps to reach Legolas but then a number of orcs burst forth from the ruins in sheer panic, but as soon as they noticed the lone elf they abandoned their escape and swarmed him with drawn weapons only to be cut down by his flashing swords.

Fury blazed through Thranduil. These orcs attacking him were weak and posed no real danger, but they were many and they slowed him down, kept him from his son who was in mortal danger. Just in the moment as he slit the throat of a most disgusting goblin his son’s shrill cry of pain cut through the frosty air.

This scream pierced marrow and bone. Thranduil’s swords were still caught in der furious dance as he looked up and saw Legolas’ left leg slackened and he collapsed to his knees.

The Elvenking grew stiff mid-movement. Then however Legolas struggled back on his legs and retreated hobbling, away from the pale orc and Thranduil had to focus on his own fight. The orcs and goblins had used his short moment of inattention to regroup for their next attack. But the old elf had no more time to lose.

He killed the reminding orcs and hurried towards the ongoings on the frozen river. Just as Thranduil climbed over some rumble his eyes found Tauriel who just reached the river and hurled herself toward the combatants after a short moment of hesitation. 

However before she could even come anywhere near them, the pale orc managed to land his final hit. The Elvenking’s heart stopped when he saw his beloved child being hurled through the air and remaining lying motionless on the cold ground. Then however is started to race again. He needed to reach them. Tauriel stood no chance against a monster like that. She stood no chance on her best day and even from this distance Thranduil could see her body shaking.

His red-haired elfling was obviously injured and weakened, even though she probably hadn’t yet realized it herself. He could recognize the signs clearly and the disgusting orc wouldn’t miss them either.

Before Thranduil had set a food on the frozen river the young elf collapsed next to Legolas on the ground. For a moment she remained still, her eyes fixed on Legolas, then she lifted a hand and touched his face. Even from the distance the Elvenking could see her eyes widening, before she tried to regain her footing.

But were her spirit had still some fight left, her body failed her and she sunk back to the ground. He would never reach them in time.

An angry yell however drew both the orcs and the silver-blond Elvenking’s attention towards a lone figure which jumped in this very moment down from the rocky hillside and landed elegantly on the frozen river.

This figure was an elf, this the Elvenking could recognise unhindered even by its long cloak and hood. No man, dwarf or wizard would have managed to jump fifteen paces onto frozen ground without tripping or falling.

Azog growled threateningly but started retreating; Away from the foreign elf and even more important away from Legolas and Tauriel.

Thranduil haltered his hurried steps and neared now more carefully. Out of the corner of his eye the Elvenking noticed movements and he turned fast, ready to confront whatever enemy was sneaking closer. 

Yet the motion came from a dark pile on the ice which upon closer inspection turned out to be the dwarvenking Thorin Oakenshield. The dwarf sat up abruptly, his eyes focused onto Thranduil first, then wandered to Azog and the mysterious elf. Latter was still slowly nearing the orc leader; a nonchalantly stroll to most, but not to the Elvenking, he recognised is for what it was, the lethal approach of a hunter moments before his attack.

Even without the other elf’s deadly concentration focused on him Thranduil could feel his unsettling power radiating of him. There was no doubt left that Azog’s last moment was drawing nearer and they all new it elf, dwarf and orc.

Thorin looked back towards Thranduil who had moved in between the orc and the dwarf, to cut of the former’s route of escape and to protect the latter from any desperate last slaughter attempts.

The unknown elf eyed Thranduil for a short moment when he moved and their eyes locked for a second. A shudder travelled down Thranduil’s back; Ancient power and fierce determination. Even without being able to attach a name to this elf yet, he already knew not to cross this one.

Then the moment passed and the other’s eyes travelled back to Azog, who had noticed Thranduil in this very moment and stopped suddenly. Without any hurry the foreign elf reached for his sword which had hung innocently from his belt without anyone of them noticing.

This however seemed to enable the orc to pull free from the elf’s spell and let him search – with real courage or sheer panic – for his salvation in a last desperate attack. His one hand hurled the stone forward while his other readied his blade.

The elf left his lurking position within a heartbeat and deflected the nearing club with a flash of light before he brought his sword down with a single deadly strike. His blade flashed blue as it left its sheath repelled the orc’s blade and sunk deep into his chest.

For a moment the orc stood frozen, and then he collapsed slowly.

The foreign elf pulled his sword free before he rammed it with playful ease into Azog’s head. Thranduil could hear Thorin’s staggered gasp regarding the rapid end of his most hated and feared enemy. Both elves threw him a short look, then however the other elf turned and marched back to where the two young elves still laid. Thranduil only hesitated for a second, before following.

The foreign elf only had eyes for the red-haired elleth who still lay unconscious next to Legolas. The young prince breathed heavily and as Thranduil reached them, he opened his eyes.

“Legolas” Thranduil breathed as he sunk to the ground next to his son and started to look for injuries.

“Ada” the young prince whispered and looked with pain filled eyes first to Thranduil then let them wander to Tauriel.

The unknown elf who, for the moment, had settled onto the ground, a hand placed on her ribs and mumbled healing words, closed his eyes for a moment and a warm glow started to emit from his body and travelled into Tauriel’s. Then he settled back and his eyes found those of Thranduil and Legolas.

Now up close the king could study the stranger better and realized shocked that this elf was a Noldo and an ancient one at that, a Noldo in whose eyes the light of the two trees shone. That could not be good. The jet-black hair fell out of the hood and the steel-grey eyes seemed to study both Sindar intensely. But then he turned his head from a brief moment and looked at the injuries of the young prince. 

He raised a hand and placed it Legolas only on the forehead, then the chest and finally the injured leg. Then he nodded to himself and withdrew again, eyes focused on theirs again. 

"Thank you for the help." Thranduil finally began - more to fill the uncomfortable silence and break the other’s glare, as to say something important. Every elf would protect another, when it was within his powers, and he would require no thanks for it. 

And as expected the other nodded, signalling that it was not even worth mentioning. 

A painful groan made them look up and a few steps away they could watch as the dwarf king gradually straightened, his gaze still fixed on the fallen orc and slowly stumbled towards him. 

Then, however, a gasp drew the attention of the three elves to Tauriel, who opened her eyes at that moment and looked up. 

Her gaze slid over the foreign elf, then Thranduil and Legolas. But then it returned to the elf and she stared at him for a long time in silence before finally whispering, "I remember your face." 

The mouth of the elves twitched slightly, as if he tried to smile but had forgotten how to do so. 

"I remember." She repeated uncertainly, "But I do not know who you are." 

The eyes of the Noldo wandered into the distance and he sighed distressed, "I ..." His voice was hoarse, and he frowned. "I am your father." 

Thranduil gasped. His eyes focused for a moment on the face of the other before settling Tauriel and her unusual hair colour. 

Red. 

Only one family was known for this particular hair colour and only one elf from this family had not - to his knowledge at least - died. 

Tauriel and Legolas but were too young to even suspect whom they had in front of them, and so the two just stared confused yet fascinated at the dark-haired elf. This one lowered his gaze until his eyes found his daughter’s again. "We will speak in due time more. Now we have to go. " 

 

With these words the elf straightened and pulled his blade a few inches from the sheath to show its bluish glow. "Orcs." 

And as if on command screeches came from the murderous pack that spilled out onto the icy riverbed aiming for the elves and the lone dwarf. 

The Elvenking crouched still frozen beside his son and stared at the other elf in horror. And the burning eyes of the dark-haired elf settled once again on Thranduil. "Get up and help your elfling" he ordered sharply. Then he bent down and pulled Tauriel back on her feet. The words of Noldo seemed to have torn Thranduil from his frightened rigidity; at least the blond Elf was immediately on his feet and brought Legolas with him. 

The young prince was leaning heavily on his father to relieve his injured leg, but managed to stand. 

"Come and stay with me," the dark-haired said sharply in a voice that brooked no argument and started at moving at once back towards the viewpoint and the city of Dale. The three elves and a lone dwarf followed him. And when the first scattered orcs jumped onto the ice, the strange elf started to glow from deep within. The orcs shrieked in blind panic and scattered, which made them easy prey for the swords of the elves, who continued their way.


	4. Thorin's impression

The dwarf king moaned softly when he regained his senses. The first thing he realized was his aching body, then the cold that gripped him. Where was he? What had happened? He squinted and took a deep breath. Then he blinked and saw white. Was he not within Erebor? 

No, no, gradually his memories returned. The elves had come, then Dain and ... Azog. Panic raced up and down the nerves along his body. The orc had killed Fili and ... and he had fought against him, he had been struck down. 

That left two important questions: Where was he? And where was this damned orc? He had to be somewhere close. As if stung by a tarantula, he shot up and looked around. He was still on the frozen river, which hat certainly explained the cold. Then his eyes found those of an elf and not just any elf, but the cursed elven king himself. What was he doing here? 

Disgusted, he turned his head and then finally he discovered Azog. The orc did not look as if it the fight against Thorin had even worn him down a little bit. Proud and upright, this damn creature, but then the dwarf blinked. The orc retreated. It was not pride that made the orc straightening menacingly to his full height, but fear. 

What was able to terrify this abomination? He did not fear the wrath of the dwarf king, surly there was nothing else that could be more frightening. His eyes followed the line of sight of the Orc and found a darkly dressed shape the slowly, very slowly approached. Something it had that made the dwarvenking’s hackles rise, it aroused his fight or flight instinct, although the latter seemed to predominate. 

A quick glance at the hated Elvenking confirmed that he was not alone with this feeling, even if the blond elf just radiated certain vigilance, before focusing again on Azog. Was Thranduil crazy, his focus should be on this new calamity? Why did the king not fear its presence as much as the dwarf did? 

Instead the elf stepped between him and Azog, as if he wanted to help the other, or Thorin dared hardly ever admit this within the safety of his own thoughts, as if to protect Thorin. From the Orc. The Orc was certainly the least of their problems. The dwarf felt around with his hands for the sword that Thranduil’s elfling had returned to him, without taking his eyes of the dark figure. 

What was this thing by Mahal? 

The Orc paused and Thorin could hear him growl. Why did he not come further in their direction, certainly even for such a monster an elf and a dwarf were preferable company especially when that meant putting as much distance between himself and this thing as possible. Surely neither he nor Thranduil were as terrifying as this figure. But the orc seemed to think otherwise. He threw a glance at Thranduil out the corner of his eye before glancing back at the figure. 

This one grabbed for its sword and Thorin paused for a moment his breath. Surely this was their all end. 

But then the blade left its sheath and even from the distance the dwarf recognised the style of blacksmithing, which had flowed into this sword. The resemblance it had to his own sword. The thing carried an elvish blade. How could that be? Was that something in an alliance with those bloody pointy-ears? That would explain why the Elvenking was not as worried as himself. 

These thoughts came to a quick stop when he saw the massive form of the orc collapse in a flash of light, and the thing rammed this’ sword in Azog’s skull. Shock - that was the only thing the dwarfenking felt. How could it be that his nemesis, against whom he had fought so valiantly and still failed had been brought low in not even a fraction of a second? How was it possible that Azog was no more? 

How did this creature destroy him if he, Thorin Oakenshield, had failed? The creature looked a moment to him, and when the dwarf saw the face his heart came almost to a stand ere it started to beat furiously. An elf? This thing was nothing more than a simple elf? 

He had been afraid of an elf?

Perhaps his fight with Azog had caused him a head trauma; because there was no way that he, Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror King under the Mountain, could have felt fear of one of those miserable pointy-ears. It was impossible, absolutely impossible.

Elves were weak, pathetic, nothing more than pretty faces and far too slender body. No dwarf was afraid of them. Everyone knew that an honourable dwarf could only hate or detest elves and the less honourable among them knew how to make some good money with them when they were passed into the right hands, but that was completely irrelevant. It was only important to know that a dwarf never was afraid of one of them. 

When the dwarfenking looked at the dark elf again, he nodded to himself. He was not afraid of him. Completely harmless. With a groan, he struggled back to his feet and approached the dead orc. He would ensure that this one was truly dead. That he would do. You could not trust that those elves knew what they were doing. 

Elves were useless. Elves were harmless. Elves were weak. Elves were unfaithful. But foremost elves were absolutely not dangerous and not daunting in any way or frightening. He repeated this like a mantra, as he approached the orc and his eyes fell on the injuries. 

He gulped in horror. The blow that killed the orc had been anything but weak or harmless. Thorin took a deep breath before he found an explanation. Surely it was only the work of his blade. Elvish blades were, he could grudgingly admit this, relatively well forged. And Azog had certainly been weakened by the battle with Thorin. Yes, this was more likely. He had done most of the work and Azog just could not defend himself any longer, and with a nice sharp blade you can cut deep in the flesh of an orc with little strength. 

Calmed by this realisation his gaze found its way back to the elves. Thranduil and the other were bent over two figures on the ground. He recognized the Prince of woodland realm, who had apparently tried to fight Azog. Stupid elfling, how could he have believed to stand a chance when Thorin himself had to fight so very hard an not gain any ground? 

The dwarf king straightened to his full height - as good as his aching body allowed it anyway - ready to leave the battlefield with all the due dignity, after all, what he had come for had been done, but then suddenly the elves began to move again. The stranger was on his feet, ordering the others to follow him and they did. Why would Thranduil follow some small-time elf? He shook his head. Elves simply had no backbone. 

But then he noticed that his legs, without him having given them orders to, had also made to follow the now strangely glowing elf. With a growl, he paused only to notice the orcs, who now ran onto the ice. He immediately started to move again, to try and catch up with the elves. Not that this would make the trek any safer, but it was better than to find himself surrounded, besides, they heeded in the same direction anyway. 

He climbed the stairs back up to the top of the Ravenhill and entered the lookout there, although every single one of his muscles and bones complained against this effort. There, however, his eyes found the image that he had tried so desperately to banish from his mind. There on the ground he was. His nephew. His beloved Fili. Bravely Kili guarded his body, menacing raising his sword, when he noticed the elves. 

What significance could a few pointy-ears have, when his sister's son, his heir had been struck down? He rushed to his side and pulled him into his arms. He would never have allowed the boys to preface alone. It was probably only thanks Mahal itself, that Kili at least was still alive, if he had lost the boy also... 

How could he face Dis after this? Had he notpromised her he would both defend them with his life? 

Dwalin went up to him and his hand fell heavily on his shoulder as the warrior called relived "Thorin, you're alive." 

Desperately Thorin tore his eyes from the dead pale face of his nephew for a moment, looking up at his old friend. 

Then the silence around them was broken however, when the strange elf snorted, as if Thorin’s survival was the most ridiculous achievement he had ever heard about and said scornfully, "Hardly something to which he had contributed greatly." 

Thorin ears were burning with rage. Did this little twerp of a warrior seriously suggest that he, the heir of Durin's throne had not fought honourable and heroic? But his anger fizzled again quickly and he leaned forward over his nephew in an attempt to keep himself in check and to make sure that he was truly dead and they were not holding pointless conversation over a still breathing. 

But this last desperate hope dwindled as quickly as it had come, and he gasped tortured, "No, Fili, no." 

"We should not remain here," the cold voice of the Elvenking took the dwarf back into reality and his anger returned. Had this twig actually suggested leaving his nephew behind? No way. Faithless elf, maybe it was normal for them to abandon family but certainly not for dwarves. 

"I will not leave my nephew." How dare he? 

But the elf did not seem to perceive his annoyance and said only cold, "Then bring him with you," as if Thorin was too stupid to see this most obvious of solutions. 

Of course, Thorin had planned to bear Fili back and had only taken the time to briefly mourn his nephew. He stroked him gently over the cooled cheek before pulling him into his arms and standing up. 

His arms were protesting the load, but he gritted his teeth and also send Dwalin away, as he tried relieve him of his nephew. No, Fili was his responsibility in life and he also was his in death. The warrior should focus all his strength and power on keeping Kili alive. 

The dwarf king turned his gaze again disdainfully to the Elves before starting on the path down and marched past them back to Erebor. Halfway there they met Balin, who held armed with his sword some orcs at bay. However, when Thorin and the others approached him he looked up and his face lit up with happiness, but only for a moment, until his gaze fell on Fili. 

Then his smile left his face and they joined forces and he managed to destroy the orcs with Kili and Dwalin before he went to Thorin's side, his eyes fixed on Filis face. "Oh, no. Fili, my boy." He looked at Thorin, before his eye landed on Kili who wad frantically clutching his sword and stared at the dead Orcs, as if he wished they would get up, so he could strike them down again. 

"Let us catch up with Dain," Thorin said his voice hard as he marched on, unwilling to discuss the death of his nephew on open field. 

The eagles ploughed through the battlefield and the skin changer chased after a group of in blind panic fleeing orcs a few hundred yards away from them. 

When they reached the entrance to the mountain they were met there by the red-bearded dwarf who had gathered his remaining men around him and sent them out in different directions to find their wounded and carry them to the healers, to the death they would see later. 

"Thorin" shouted Dain loudly and rushed up to him, "Oh Mahal. Who has done that to the boy?" 

"Azog." The dwarf king hissed angrily and laid the dead prince gently down. 

"That damn orc. But you could hunt and cut him down this time at least, right? He does not still run somewhere around here, does he? And I’ve heard his cursed brood has been seen around here as well." 

Thorin paused and chewed angrily on his lower lip. 

Kili responded instead, "Azog’s son is dead." The young dwarf shuddered, "A strange ceature killed him, I saw it when I was looking for Tauriel." 

"Creature? What sort of creature are you speaking of, lad? " Dwalin demanded to know. 

"Tall, wrapped in a black cloak, but the feeling that spread through me ... I have never met anything which scared me so with only his mere presence." 

"You were not scared," Thorin hissed sharply "Not of this figure." 

The young dwarf looked at him confused, "I was afraid, Thorin, who knows what that was for a strange being. We should better be careful, maybe it's somwehere close. " 

"It was no more than an elf. A pathetic and insignificant elf. " 

"You've seen him as well then?" Dain questioned.

"Yes," Thorin admitted grudgingly, "It was he who slew Azog obviously an ally of Elvenking at least they disappeared together towards Dale." 

"That was a mere elf?” Kili blurted stunned. “I thought it was some sort of demon. Wait a moment; you let some elf steal your kill to avenge my brother?" 

Thorin muttered angrily to himself before he kicked a stone hard and snapped, "I could not prevent it. Otherwise I would have avenged Fili's death myself, but this elf has managed to forestall me." 

With these words, the dwarf king turned away and walked head held high into the mountain. He needed some rest to think about what happened. Then he would surely find a way to compensate Kili for his failure to avenge his brother. He would find a way to rejoice the boy and cheer him up again. He vowed.


End file.
